


The Reluctant Bridegroom

by Lillianpost



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:55:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillianpost/pseuds/Lillianpost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before he died, Thror wrote a law ordering Thorin to choose a bride by a certain time or one would be chosen for him. Now at Erebor after BOFA, Thorin's friends try to help him get rid of all contenders, while he hunts down a mystery women who teases and taunts him through letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Thorin scanned the document and read and reread each paragraph with narrowed eyes, desperately searching for a loophole that would let him escape a fate he thought worse than torture and death. He had been searching for a way out late into the night or early into the morning, depending on one's point of view. Light from the fire illuminated his drawn and tired face while the flames reflected on the polished granite walls, making it seem like he was surrounded by an inescapable fire. Perhaps he was.

"There must be a way," he muttered while tracing his finger down the long scroll. Then he grabbed for another. His huge, mahogany desk was littered with them.

"It's no use, laddie," Balin said as he stood by the black, granite fireplace. The flames crackled happily, at odds with the gloomy mood of the room's occupants. "It's ironclad. You must wed while you're still able to, uh, beget an heir."

Thorin looked up and tossed his head.

"No one took issue with Fili and Kili being my heirs before we retook Erebor," he retorted angrily, flicking his fingers against the parchment, "and the council knew that my grandfather wasn't in his right mind when he wrote this. Look at his handwriting!"

Balin nodded but shrugged helplessly. "I know, but Thror was still king, and it is still the law. It's bad luck that they found the scroll in the archives, but now it stands that if you don't choose a bride before Durin's Day, the council will choose one for you." He gave Thorin a look.

"And you  _know_  who  _that_ will be."

Thorin's mouth pulled to one side in disgust. Onkra, daughter of Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills, was a ferociously ugly and ill-mannered dwarrowdam who had all the benefits of nobility and none of its graces. Thorin called her "the oinker" in private.

"But cheer up, laddie," Balin started, determined to look on the less dire side, "you might find someone to bump along with well enough or even find someone you can like. You never know."

Thorin thought rapidly through the candidates, most of whom he already knew—at least by reputation—and he scoffed while pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Let's see," he began sarcastically, "I can choose to bed one of several children, a number of fortune hunters, or a gaggle of brainless nitwits. Of all the roughly 20 who qualify, I don't know of any I can respect or even tolerate."

Balin sighed. The pickings were slim for dwarrowdams in any case and even scarcer for those of the nobility.

"So let me understand clearly," Thorin said finally. "All I have to do is bed my wife and provide an heir and then I never have to deal with her again?"

Balin nodded. "Aye, that about sums it up excepting for royal appearances, but you don't have to talk to her."

Thorin ran his hands through his graying hair.

"Very well then, Balin," he said, "send for all who qualify and prepare to play host for the next month."

Balin bowed and left to make preparations, and the king of Erebor sagged back in his chair.

"May Mahal have mercy on me."          


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin has to break the news to his sister-sons who form plan of their own.

**Chapter 2**

Thorin paced around the long granite table in the council chambers, his silver-streaked hair swinging with every stride, and prepared what he was going to say. Fili had been groomed as his heir even from before they reclaimed Erebor, and now, with a stroke of a mad king's hand, he loses his place.

_It's not fair. The lad deserves better._

Rubbing two fingers against his temple, he thought back to those days when he nearly lost his mind but was saved by a hobbit's courage and the love and sacrifice of his kin. Those days seemed like another lifetime but, in truth, were only two years ago.

 _They were willing to give their lives to save me when I fell in battle,_  he thought.  _I nearly lost the only family I have left._

Thankfully, the brothers' injuries, while grave, were not fatal, and all three recovered after a long convalescence.

 _Meanwhile, these self-important lords and elders searched the archives and installed themselves,_  Thorin recalled bitterly.  _Now I'm at their mercy, but I make my own oath on Durin's tomb that I will find a way to rid myself of them once and for all._

Then the door opened, and Fili and Kili stepped in, both looking solemn. Thorin motioned for them to take a seat.

"We'd rather stand, uncle," Fili said soberly. "We already know what you're going to say. We overheard some of the council members talking."

Thorin closed his eyes and groaned, shaking a mental fist at those thrice-damned dignitaries. Then he sighed and nodded. His careful words fell by the wayside.

"Aye, well, then you know I must be wed before Durin's Day or else a bride will be chosen for me," he said more harshly than he intended. "You deserve better, lads, but I'm afraid there's no help for it."

Fili stood erect with his hand on the pommel of his sword. He looked unusually grim, with his mouth set in a tight line, the usually merry twinkle gone. Kili stepped in next to him looking just as stern. Thorin had not seen them this serious since he took them to task years ago for jumping in the river before they knew how to swim.

"Was it me, uncle?" Fili asked stiffly, clearly expecting to hear a litany of complaints. "Did they find fault with me that they're forcing you into this?"

"And I, uncle?" Kili added, looking downcast. "Do I share the blame for this?"

Staring open-mouthed at them, Thorin stood dumbfounded. He had expected disappointment or resentment, perhaps, but not guilt. He strode forward and gripped Fili's arms.

"No, lad, no!" he said forcefully. "Of course not," he added more gently. He smiled fondly at them.

"You both would make better kings than I, nephews," he said firmly, "and I couldn't be prouder of you. This has nothing to do with you."

He ran his hands over his face while Fili and Kili looked at each other with raised brows.

"It has everything to do with a decree that King Thror wrote in his madness," he began with more than a trace of seething anger, "and that decree specifically states that I must wed or else a bride will be chosen for me. Of course, in the event she doesn't conceive, you'll still be my heir."

Fili stepped forward, confusion written all over his face.

"But why now, uncle?" he asked urgently. "Why the rush?"

Thorin grinned mirthlessly. This was an insult if ever there was one.

"Because I am, as the council decreed, 'entering  _elder_  age' and may not be able to sire an heir if I wait any longer," he said. Fili and Kili gasped in unison.

"That's preposterous!" Kili said stoutly. "Dwarves much older than you are  _still_  having children."

"Aye, uncle," Fili agreed, "you're in your prime."

Thorin shook his head. The council deliberated long and hard on this and came to a unanimous conclusion. Only Balin could calm him down hours later after he heard the council members' reasoning. The doors he punched through were promptly replaced.

"If it were only the begetting of a child, the council would have agreed with you," he said, "but then comes the matter of preparing the child to rule, and that  _I_  must do and be young enough to do it. The council went to elaborate lengths to calculate the necessary time needed and arrived at this year."

"But, but," Fili spluttered, "you're king! Surely you can change the law or change the terms at least."

Thorin sighed and braced one hand on the table with his back to them.

"My grandfather ordered it as a binding oath on the Tomb of Durin," he muttered, "and the timing was left to the council's discretion."

The brothers stared horrified. That oath was seldom used for it was considered both sacred and irrevocable.

"But why, uncle?" Fili asked sorrowfully. "Why did he do that to you?"

Thorin swung around, anger deepening every line of his face.

"Because he was mad!" he roared. "All he cared about was securing Durin heirs to protect his precious treasure for all time!"

He put his fist to his mouth and stepped away, shaking his head. He knew he needed to control himself lest he embitter them as well but failed miserably. He turned away only to feel his nephews step close to him.

"He did care, uncle," Kili said, choosing his words carefully. "He cared enough to see to your welfare and not leave you alone to rule. You know how much he loved your grandmother. Perhaps he knew that you were alone and wanted something better for you."

Thorin hadn't considered that before, but if Thror wanted to show his affection for him, he could have done so in any number of better ways. Still, to be alone was Thror's greatest fear and, perhaps through his madness, a glimmer of loving concern shone through. His eyes stung as he recognized Kili's efforts to soothe his pain.

_A fine dwarrow he's become._

"So you aren't upset, nephews?" he asked.

The brothers shook their heads and smiled widely.

"Your boots are too big to fill, uncle," Fili said with a flashing grin, "and I rather like the greater freedom of being a prince. I don't fancy taking on what you've had to deal with."

Kili nodded. "Aye, we're only worried for you, uncle."

"I thank you, lads," he rumbled, his eyes suspiciously glassy. Then he shook himself out of his melancholy. "However, the fact remains that noble dwarrowdams from the various clans will descend on Erebor within the month, and I must choose one." He took a deep breath. "And I'll need your help."

The brothers glanced at each other. This was new. Their uncle always expected their service to Erebor, but  _he_  seldom needed their help. The last time was when they stood over his prone body on the battlefield, but even then, he didn't ask them for it. He was already unconscious.

"Our help?" Fili asked.

Thorin waved one hand in the air. This was one subject that he was loath to talk about, but it must be faced if he was to have any control or make any success of what must come. He winced as he faced his nephews.

"I'll need some help with, uh, charm," he said. "I'm not known for being particularly good with females other than your mother, and even then …."

He didn't need to say anymore. Dis, while she was still living, called him the unpolished rock-head of Ered Luin. Growing up, the brothers grew used to hearing her grumpy but ultimately good-natured complaints about her brother's lack of sensitivity—something they had seen for themselves on many an occasion.

"Of course, uncle," Fili said, quickly stifling all desire to laugh until a later time. "We'll help out in whatever way you need, right, Kili?"

"Aye," Kili agreed, trying hard but failing to keep a smirk off his face, "whatever you need."

"Thank you," Thorin replied, flicking his hand to dismiss them, "I appreciate your support." Then he sat down in his chair. They left quietly.

The brothers walked down the hall silently, each lost in his thoughts. They had always revered their uncle, but they became especially close to him while they all recovered from their injuries. It was Mahal's kindness that they survived, and it changed them. Thorin shared more of himself than he ever had before. His bout with gold sickness made him less concerned with wealth and status and more concerned with those he loved. Never one for showing much emotion, he became much more free with his affection and favor, and his nephews thrived on it. In turn, they became more thoughtful and responsible, and they loved him with fierce loyalty. Now he was threatened, and they took it personally.

"This just isn't fair to uncle," Kili said hotly while they walked down a wide, polished hallway with golden torches hanging in gem-encrusted, wall sconces. "No matter whom he chooses, you know he'll be unhappy because he was forced into it. We need to do something, but what?"

"I dunno," Fili answered with a frown. "The only way uncle could get out of this is if none of the dwarrowdams want to marry him."

Kili stopped in the corridor.

"Say that again."

"I said, that the only way that uncle could get out of it would be if.…" Fili trailed off and broke into a devious grin.

Though the brothers had matured greatly, their penchant for pranks never disappeared completely. Once the cause of half Thorin's headaches at Ered Luin, their childish antics evolved over the years into clever traps that now bedeviled anyone who gave their uncle grief. One such took place after they found him rubbing his head and looking exhausted after a difficult council meeting. Their response was for a senior advisor to find an "ancient" scroll ordering council members to observe a week of strict silence each month to ponder weighty matters with due diligence.

"Nephews, this is completely unacceptable," Thorin had said when he found out why he suddenly had blessed peace a week later. The brothers remembered that he seemed to have a cold that day because he kept turning his back and hacking or clearing his throat. His lips quirked while he talked as though he was trying hard not to cough.

"Completely unacceptable," he repeated after another bout. "Of course, it would reflect badly on you both to admit to this, so I think it best that we keep things as they are."

Later that night, when they went to their chambers, they found exquisite daggers with royal blue sapphires set into the grip and pommel. Runes reading "The King's Protector" were engraved on the gleaming steel blades.

"This is too big for just the two of us," Kili said thinking hard. "We can't take on 20 determined dwarrowdams by ourselves."

"Maybe not, but uncle's utter lack of charm will be a big help," Fili pointed out, "and I'm sure that the company will want to pitch in."

"Right," Kili said setting his face forward to the task, "we'll recruit as many as we can to help out and, while we're at it, we need to, uh, assist the current council members out of their positions."

Fili laughed heartily and then lowered his voice after several advisors stopped and stared.

"I see you retained his lessons on battle strategy."

Kili shook his dark head, his handsome face fierce and determined.

"Not battle strategy, brother,  _ambush._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is published almost in full at Fanfiction.net. I decided to post all my stories there. I have eight, I think, so if you enjoy them, feel free to check them out on that website. Oh, and please leave me a review to let me know you're reading! Thanks ever so!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's sister-sons plan to make the noble-borns' stay at Erebor miserable. They try to enlist the help of the company with mixed results.

While dwarves scurried about Erebor, preparing for unwanted guests, Fili and Kili worked to drum up support for their scheme. First, they asked to speak to Thorin's closest advisors. While the brothers passionately argued their case, Dwalin sat stone-faced with his arms crossed over his chest, and Balin ran his fingers through his beard and pulled out the tangles.

"So let me get this straight, lads," he began after a final tug. "You want us to help you humiliate and terrify our noble dwarrowdams to the point that they run shrieking from our halls?"

Kili turned to his brother in dismay. Like many plotters before them have discovered, their plan sounded much better before they let others in on it.

"Not exactly," Fili countered with a pleading look. "We just need to persuade them to leave uncle be, and if they have a terrible time here, it would change their minds."

Dwalin sat unmoving, but Balin pushed to his feet and wagged his finger.

"Have you forgotten, my lads, that our womenfolk are rarer than mithril and that we are to treat them as rare gems to be cherished and protected?" he said firmly.

The brothers glanced at each other while Balin harangued them on their duty to the females of their race. One of lessons they learned early and repeatedly throughout their lives was that dwarrowdams were their race's true treasure and that all dwarrow were to give their lives for even the lowliest. For a moment, their training warred with their loyalty to Thorin. Then Fili thought of Princess Onkra waddling about Erebor barking orders, and loyalty won out.

"And they are as delicate as the petals of a rose …" Balin huffed with his hands on his hips.

"Do you really want an oinker on the throne?" Fili shouted, silencing Balin who was about to argue that dwarrowdams were Mahal's finest filigree creation.

"You were saying, brother?" Dwalin rumbled after a moment of silence, his thick mustache twitching. "As delicate as the petals of a rose?"

Balin's nostrils flared as he advanced on the princes.

"Have you no  _SHAME!_ " he seethed. "How dare you call a lady of noble blood such an odious name!"

But Fili would not back down and stood toe to toe, matching glares with the old dwarf.

"I think he meant to say ' _The_  Oinker,'" Dwalin offered.

Balin looked over aghast.

"Not you, too, brother! Have you forgotten yourself?"

Dwalin remained unruffled.

"He means Princess Onkra," he said, "and you can't fault him when Thorin calls her the same."

Balin's mouth formed a perfect "o."

"Do you remember the time that Dain traveled to Ered Luin with his daughter?"

Balin searched his memory, and he twitched and shuddered when he recalled the peevish and homely princess. It was only a month-long visit, but she almost sent the dwarves fleeing to the Shire. Walking about with a plate in her hands, she spent the visit stuffing her face with jam tarts and making outrageous demands like ordering the kitchen to stay open around the clock so she could have hot apple pie and fresh biscuits dusted with powdered sugar and nutmeg whenever she wanted. Balin rubbed his mouth and cringed. The already obese princess insisted that the seamstresses stop their work to make her a new gown.

_It was never finished because they kept having to enlarge it during her stay,_ Balin thought _. Why didn't Dain say anything? He should have taken a birch switch to her behind years ago._

"Durin's beard," Balin said heavily as he took his seat. "What a tangle."

He rubbed his face with both hands and sighed. But he wasn't ready to concede their point just yet.

"Still, did you ever think that the king might actually fancy one of them?" he asked. "And what if he did and we scared her off? What then? I cannot believe that they  _all_ are as, erm,  _unsuitable_  as Dain's, er, daughter. And what about our alliances? A stunt like this would not be forgotten in a hurry, that's certain."

Growling in frustration, Kili kicked a chair, and Fili threw up his hands.

"So we stand by and let uncle bear more of King Thror's madness?" he asked. "He's suffered enough!"

Dwalin chuckled. It was hard to tell since his facial expression didn't change.

"No doubt Thorin's already working out how to deal with this," he said, "but I'm with you on Princess Onkra and the others. The council deserves as much as we can dish out for this."

"Brother!" Balin exclaimed. "It isn't our place to interfere."

"It is when it concerns what's best for Erebor, Balin," Dwalin said with more heat than before, "and The Oinker isn't."

"Stop  _saying_  that! 'Tisn't  _respectful!_ "

"But it  _is_  fitting," Kili said, "and noble dwarrowdam or no, uncle doesn't deserve such a fate."

"So," Fili said, "what can we do to help him?"

Balin drummed his fingers on the table. He was definitely not happy about the state of affairs, but Princess Onkra? A cold chill ran through him as her piggish face reappeared in his memory.

"Well,  _your_  notions will only bring us infamy, lads"—he paused and looked each in the eye—"so we need something a little more subtle while protecting our more worthy lasses among the wolves."

"Sows," Dwalin amended.

Fili and Kili plopped themselves down with eager noises. This is what they hoped for. Without saying so, Balin and Dwalin had signed on.

"We'll need the others," Dwalin said. "There's too many to do a proper job of it."

"Aye," Balin said while lost in thought. Dain's daughter was nothing if not persistent when she wanted something. He twitched again, remembering her screaming long and loudly for a necklace she saw on the neck of passing dwarrowdam until he thought his ears would bleed. "Princess Oinker—Onkra!—alone will be quite a challenge."

Thorin walked back and forth along the ramparts above the front gate, struggling to find his own strategy. Asking his nephews for help was a mistake. He would never be charming no matter how hard he tried, and he wasn't willing to try that hard. But he couldn't be openly hostile either, lest he offend the clans and risk conflict or even war. Hmmm. Whatever the council decreed—and may they all be struck with boils on their backsides!—he wasn't about to offer himself up on a platter to satisfy a law that should never have been written in the first place.

_I don't need a wife anyhow,_  he told himself.

After pacing for a good while with his hands behind his back, he decided to be correct and civil, but no more. He would do nothing to encourage them but instead would freeze them out with royal disapproval. After all, he only had to pick one, and whomever she was, she'd have to put up with his indifference for the rest of her life.

_Aye, that'll work. She'll know where she stands and leave me in peace after a child is conceived. I hope it doesn't take long._

Meanwhile, other members of the company agreed with a zeal that remained undiminished after Balin's stern lecture on the delicacy of dwarrowdams.

"So no bodily injury?" Nori asked. Dori rapped him on the back of the head.

"Ow, what? I'm just saying that we could arrange a few  _accidents_ ," Nori argued. "Nothing fatal, mind."

"We don't want to hurt them," Dori replied, "just make them leave—quickly—and they couldn't do that if we broke their legs."

Balin shook his head in dismay.

"We need to somehow disqualify them all," he said. Then he frowned and pulled on his beard. "No, they need to disqualify themselves, aye, that's it. Then our honor won't be questioned."

"And just how do we get them to do that?" Kili wanted to know.

"Carefully, lad, very carefully," Balin said. "This needs to be planned and deliberate, like a game of chess."

Gloin tapped the side of his nose.

"Oin could help with that," he said. He nodded at the Fili and Kili. "He's down in the apothecary. You'd better speak to him there."

Fili and Kili walked quickly down the stairs and across the Great Hall, acknowledging the bows and curtsies of their people along the way. Although they were always raised as princes, they never got special treatment at Ered Luin. Everyone was too busy there building, working, and struggling to survive to think of the niceties. A quick bob of the head did just as well and, more often than not, they were dispensed with when everyone rolled up their sleeves to pitch in. Now rank was again important, but they grumbled, knowing that it only made it harder to skulk about without getting caught.

The apothecary and sick rooms, which Oin oversaw, were separated from the rest of Erebor by three corridors: one that led to the mines, the second that opened on a lower level, and the third that had its own exit out of the mountain. Its ingenious design allowed the wounded to be brought directly to the infirmary, while those with contagious diseases could be quarantined from the main population. The dwarves had learned well over their long years that disease could spread quickly in a contained space, so they took every precaution. Unlike the rest of the mountain kingdom, the infirmary's general décor was plain and without statuary or heavy tapestries. Its simple furniture and decoration made it more sanitary and easier to clean. The entire area smelled of strong soap and bleach, but the beds were soft, and the sick well cared for.

The brothers found Oin mumbling to himself as he cleaned out and rearranged his stores. Looking up, he greeted the princes jovially, but his face turned dark when the brothers explained their mission.

"And we need to plan our strategy like a chess game," Kili said.

Oin looked unconvinced as he sorted packets of herbs.

"You want to frighten our womenfolk and cast a stain on Erebor forever?" he asked as he angled his earpiece. "I'll hear no more! Now go away, and I'll pretend this never happened!"

Kili sighed. "The Oinker is coming for Uncle Thorin."

Oin stopped. "The Oinker?"

"Princess Onkra," Fili said flatly. "You remember. The daughter of Dain?"

Oin's eyes flew open as a memory pushed its way to the forefront of his mind.  _Her!_ His mouth turned down as he recalled a screeching harpy who demanded treatment for every imagined ache and pain and then called him an incompetent buffoon in front of the court. He rubbed his leg where she kicked him. On rainy days it still throbbed.

"I see," he said slowly. Then he turned and grabbed a tray behind him.

"Well," he said, "I'll not help you embarrass our womenfolk, not if Erebor hung in the balance! What a notion. Outrageous! Beyond the pale! Not to be borne!" He pinned the brothers with a reprimanding scowl. Fili and Kili flushed and looked down, shifting their feet. He nodded finally, having made his point.

"Now if circumstances were different and, say, we had to repay an insult," he continued, "we could get the offending parties where they lived, so to speak. This tincture here would make them belch uncontrollably. Ha! I use it to relieve gas pains."

Fili and Kili's head jerked up.

"Tasteless and odorless," Oin said, "and they'd never know! But acting dishonorably toward these ladies who are coming so far? An unforgivable breach of honor. Never! Only three drops are needed."

He pulled out another bottle.

"And this!" he chortled. "Quite by accident I mixed two medicines together and caused a terrible, weeping rash on my hands that itched like the hair of a warg. Now I want you both to put your plan out of your minds once and for all. Do you hear me? Rub a little of this on a goblet or fork with a cloth, and a few hours later—boils!"

The brothers watched intently as Oin pulled out jar after bottle and explained their more interesting uses. Then he reached for a small, blue-glass flask.

"Oho," he said, "and this is my little beauty that I usually keep locked away. Did it ever occur to your lordships that the king may have his own plan for dealing with the situation? Let it be, I say. You'll just cause trouble. I discovered this quite by accident as well. It tastes like grapes, so it has to go in the wine. It has the effect of, erm, accentuating behavior. Have I made myself clear? The reputation of Erebor is at stake, so conduct yourself honorably, for Mahal's sake!"

Fili and Kili nodded quickly.

"How would this work—exactly?" Kili wondered with a nod toward the little bottle. Such a thing might only increase someone's greediness or determination, and that would surely make matters worse.

"Well, lad, it takes understanding your opponent," Oin said with a frown as though Kili should have known better. "Tactics, lad, tactics! It's not for everyone, of course, but if she's—he's!—fond of food, for example, this'll keep him eating until he gets sick. Catch on? Precious as gems our womenfolk are, and you treat them with all the respect they deserve! I'll not hear another word!"

"So how much…?" Fili asked, waving his hand at the bottle.

"Two drops, er, or three if they're on the hefty side," Oin answered, "but I won't have any part in it, lads, so count me out."

Finally, the dreaded day arrived. Thorin shrugged on his specially made royal tunic and surcoat and yanked at the tight collar with a curse. Then he tugged on his black boots with silver tips. He pushed back his hair with frustrated grunt and looked at himself in the mirror. His lip curled at the grim face that glared back at him. All at once, his shoulders dropped.

_Why, grandfather, why? Did you not think I'd take care of our people?_

He tried to cheer himself with Kili's words, but they faded in the face of what or rather who was coming. At least he knew Thror didn't write the law with The Oinker in mind. He died long before the princess was born.

Leaning against an oaken door carved with scenes of victory from the Battle of Five Armies, he groaned and then took a deep breath and straightened up. He shouldn't complain. Marriage for political reasons was common among all races, and many before him had done the same. Even his cousin Dain wed to secure an alliance. How else could he end up with such a daughter? Thorin dimly remembered her mother and shuddered. No wonder Dain only had one child. He tried consoling himself with the thought that some of these marriages worked out well enough, but he didn't feel any better.

Thorin looked again in the silvered glass and inhaled sharply. He didn't recognize himself. He leaned in and examined his face, seeing deeper lines, gray in his beard, and more silver in his hair. For a moment, he looked like a spectre, haunted and ghostly like a king of old risen to face his descendant.

_Must be a trick of the light._ He glanced around at the flickering lamps whose wicks needed trimming.

Then he faced his reflection.

_What do I want?_  he thought. The face in the mirror looked surprised.

_You never asked that question before._

Thorin spoke aloud to his mirror self. "I'm asking it now. What do  _I_  want?"

His reflection had no answer, and it opened its hands helplessly and then dropped them to its side. Thorin looked down at his hands, callused and hardened, and flexed his fists. Too many years of service had robbed him of himself, and he was shocked to realize he had so little life outside his duties as king. Suddenly, he felt hollow like a rotting tree and wondered how he had missed out on so much. He was always pushing, always fighting to build the lives of others, but he had never built his own. He had loyal companions and valued them greatly, but he spent little time with them now outside of official functions. Sifting through his memories, he realized that he missed the camaraderie of the quest.

Even with his nephews, whom he loved dearly, he felt set apart. They loved him, too, he was sure, but they never did anything together just for enjoyment. It was always about training or needs to be met. It took them all nearly dying to just spend time together.

Late that awful day, he woke up to the sounds of groans around him and thought that he was still on the battlefield. As his eyes cleared, he realized that he was in a tent surrounded by wounded. Looking around, he gasped when he saw the still bodies of his nephews.

"No, no!" he had cried weakly, and he tried to move, to get to them somehow. Just then, the tent flap opened, and Oin bustled in.

"No, Thorin, you can't," he said, "else you'll tear the stitches. Easy does it."

But he struggled all the more.

"Fili!" he cried, "Kili!"

Oin pushed him down by his shoulders.

"They're alive, my king," he said. "They're just unconscious."

"Truly?"

"I swear."

He stayed awake for as long as he could, waiting to see any sign of life, before his eyes closed against his will. When he woke again later, he saw Fili looking at him and Kili trying to reach out his hand. He was not ashamed to feel tears.

"My lads," he said weakly. "Mahal be praised."

Soon they were moved to a separate tent, and they talked and talked. Thorin shared stories of Dis, their father, and himself when he was younger, and he listened to their hopes and dreams. He grew even more proud of them if that were possible, but he deflected most personal questions. They made him uncomfortable and, after a while, his nephews stopped asking.

_Who am I apart from being king?_

After staring at himself and finding no answer, he growled angrily and tugged at his robes. It was too late to consider such things now even though he felt his chest aching with regret. He breathed deeply with one hand on his heart and then pulled open the door and threw his head up proudly. No one would see his unhappiness and confusion as he strode strongly down the stairs and across the hall. His people would never guess that with each step, their king bled a little inside.

_I am king. That is enough because I will it so._

He looked up at the vaulted ceiling and the wide seams of gold and crystalline quartz winking like sunlight, and he swelled with pride, deciding to forget such nettlesome questions. His life was his mountain. He fought for it and would die to defend it. Perhaps it was enough to be remembered as the one who reclaimed the Lonely Mountain. Perhaps.

_Let those who think we live in dark caves behold the light that never dims!_

His eyes took in the glory of his kingdom, and he smiled despite his circumstances. He would always have his mountain. Its walls were polished to a high luster, and its many diamond and gold chandeliers gleamed and twinkled in the torchlight.

_Like a sky full of stars._

Calmed temporarily, Thorin slowly strode toward his throne room. The council met him outside the entrance. One fat and pompous dwarf, called Dolor, stepped forward. He bowed and then scrutinized Thorin's attire with confusion.

"You wear unusual dress to meet your bride, you highness," he said with suspicion dripping from every word. "Did someone die?"

The council murmured at the king's all-black garb. Only his high collar embroidered with silver kept it from being mourning robes. One by one they whispered their disapproval.

"Not yet," Thorin replied tightly, "but 'tis still early."

"We're only doing our duty by King Thror's command," Dolor replied firmly, "and we expect your majesty to take his command as seriously as we do."

Thorin clenched his fists, and the council shuffled back from his angry face.

"Do not  _ever_  question my loyalty to my grandfather again," he said with barely controlled fury. "It is  _only_  my respect for him that allows this travesty to continue."

Then he threw open the door and stomped inside to where Fili and Kili stood. Thorin arched one brow, but Fili and Kili simply nodded and took their places by his side. They also wore black with embroidered collars. Someone must have tipped them off. Well, good. Thorin appreciated their show of solidarity. Their welcome would be formal and correct but cool to any who entered. The council could hardly expect more. Then bugles sounded to announce the approach of expected guests.

Thorin sat on his throne and turned his hard gaze on the door. Council members walked in and stood in their customary aisle, and all the company except Oin walked in and took the aisle opposite. Some of the company chuckled when they saw what Thorin and the princes wore. So their liege would play the part of the black king. They grinned and whispered approvingly under the wary gaze of council members. The two sides then glared at each other until Bofur gave them a wink and jaunty smile. After a few minutes of veiled insults passing back and forth between the aisles, a herald stepped forward and announced the visitors' arrival to the main gate. The board was now set, and the players were in place. After taking a deep breath, the black king made the first move.

"Herald, do your office." Thorin said regally with a nod.

All heard the massive doors creak open.

“So the game begins,” Bain muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now to prepare for an onslaught of social climbers!

**Author's Note:**

> Erebor is about to be invaded!


End file.
